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PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, New York
* * * * *
VOL. 1 20c. a Copy
No. 6 DECEMBER, 1899 $1 a Year
=Bird-Lore=
[Illustration]
Edited by
FRANK M. CHAPMAN
The Macmillan Company
ENGLEWOOD, N. J.
NEW YORK LONDON
_R. Weber_
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY FRANK M. CHAPMAN
=Bird-Lore=
December, 1899
CONTENTS
PAGE
Frontispiece--Golden Eagle. Photographed from life by _H. W. Nash_.
A Search for the Reedy Island Crow Roost. _Witmer Stone_ 177
Illustrated by _W. Gordon Smith_.
Winter Bird Notes from Southern New Hampshire. _William Everett Cram_ 180
Illustrated by the author.
How the Central Park Chickadees Were Tamed. _A. A Crolius_ 185
The Surprising Contents of a Birch Stub. _Frank M. Chapman_ 187
Illustrated by the author.
Richardson's Owl. Illustrated by the author. _P. R. Peabody_ 190
FOR TEACHERS AND STUDENTS
An 'Advisory Council'. 192
"Humanizing" the Birds. _Caroline G. Soule_ 193
'On the Ethics of Caging Birds.' _Olive Thorne Miller_ 194
FOR YOUNG OBSERVERS
The Birds' Christmas Tree. Illustrated. 195
The Little Brown Creeper. Verse. Illustrated. 196
NOTES FROM FIELD AND STUDY 197
An Interesting Phoebe's Nest, illustrated, _Ellen E. Webster_;
A Singing Blue Jay, _Frank E. Horack_; A Useful Nest-Holder,
illustrated; To Hunt Southern Birds; Seventeenth Congress of the
American Ornithologists' Union.
BOOK NEWS AND REVIEWS 199
Newton's 'Dictionary;' Mrs Wright's 'Wabeno;' Cory's 'Birds of
Eastern North America;' Book News.
EDITORIAL 201
BIRD-LORE FOR 1900 202
AUDUBON DEPARTMENT
Editorial: Reports from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin
Societies; The Passing of the Tern, illustrated.
×*× _Bird-Lore is published on the first of the month, at Englewood,
New Jersey, where all notices of change of address, manuscripts intended
for publication, books, etc., for review, and exchanges should be sent._
IMPORTANT NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS
All subscriptions beginning with the first (February) number of
Bird-Lore expire with this issue. A blank is enclosed for the purpose
of renewal, which it is requested be made at our Englewood, N. J.,
office, ten cents for exchange charges being added to checks on other
than New York City banks. In this connection we would call attention to
the editorial and announcements on pages 201 and 202 of this number.
PUBLISHERS' ANNOUNCEMENT
Bird-Lore for February, 1900, beginning Volume II, will contain
the details of the students' 'Advisory Council,' and, among other
interesting contributions, an important and fully illustrated paper on
'The Tongues of Birds,' by F. A. Lucas, Curator of Comparative Anatomy
in the U. S. National Museum; 'A Method of Recording Observations,'
by Professor Pinchot, of Trinity College; 'Egret Farming,' by F. M.
Chapman; and there will be some remarkable bird photographs.
[Illustration: GOLDEN EAGLE
Photographed from life by H. W. Nash, Pueblo, Colorado]
=Bird-Lore=
A BI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE
DEVOTED TO THE STUDY AND PROTECTION OF BIRDS
Official Organ of the Audubon Societies
=======================================
Vol. 1 December, 1899 No. 6
=======================================
A Search for the Reedy Island Crow Roost
BY WITMER STONE
Curator of Birds, Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia.
[Illustration: AMERICAN CROW
Photographed from life by W. Gordon Smith]
In the Delaware river, just where it begins to widen out into the bay,
and midway between the shores of Delaware and New Jersey, lie two long,
low islands, known as 'The Pea-patch' and 'Reedy Island.'
Early in the century the former of these was selected by the
government as the site of Fort Delaware, and its importance advanced
proportionately in the popular mind. Later on, the lower island, which
already boasted of a light-house, became further dignified by the
establishment of a quarantine station on its banks.
Although of little importance before the government claimed them, these
islands were by no means uninhabited, but were, in fact, well-known
as a winter resort. The early inhabitants, though much less imposing
than the soldiers and health officers who have superseded them, did not
fail to attract attention--even newspaper notoriety; not from their
individualities, but from their countless numbers. In fact they were
nothing more than ordinary, despised black Crows, but Crows in such
countless numbers that they could not fail to be noticed.
Every evening they came at dusk by thousands and tens of thousands,
winging their way in long lines from all points of the compass, and
settling down on the reed-covered islands in a solid black phalanx.
This winter roosting habit of the Crows is well-known, and many roosts
have been located, but the habit seems still to lack a satisfactory
explanation. Why should these birds fly back and forth every day over
miles and miles of country to roost in some definite spot which, so
far as we can judge, is no better suited for roosting purposes than
hundreds of other places which they pass by? And why should they gather
together every night in such numbers as to attract general attention
and invite slaughter by thoughtless gunners, when, by roosting in small
numbers wherever they happen to be feeding, they would escape notice?
These are questions I shall not attempt to solve.
Estimates placed the number of Crows in these two island roosts at half
a million, and they held possession of the islands undisturbed until
about the time of the establishment of Fort Delaware. They did not
relish this intrusion, and determined to desert the ancestral Pea-patch
roost; being also influenced, no doubt, by a storm which flooded the
island at night and drowned thousands of the unfortunate birds.
The Reedy Island roost continued in use until the establishment of the
Quarantine Station, at a much later day; then it, too, was deserted,
and the famous island roosts were no more.
I have long been interested in the winter gatherings of the Crows, and
made inquiry of the light-keeper at Reedy Island to ascertain whether
any Crows at all remained there at the present time. I was informed
that they came across from Delaware as of old in long flights from the
west, northwest and southwest, but all passed over the island into New
Jersey, where he judged they had established new winter quarters.
The location of this new roost at once became a matter of interest. By
further inquiry I learned that Crows at Salem, N. J., nearly opposite
the Pea-patch, flew southwards at evening, and by plotting this flight
line with those given by the light-house keeper, on a map, I found that
they joined some four or five miles below Salem, and here I felt sure
the roost was to be found.
I had little trouble in impressing an ornithological friend, who
resided at Salem, with the importance of locating this roost, and one
cold afternoon in January found us driving off in the direction taken
by the Salem Crow flight.
When we neared the point at which we thought the roost ought to be, we
noticed a scattered line of Crows coming up from the south, evidently
from feeding grounds on the shores of the bay. They came along in
twos and threes, and alighted in a corn-field on our left, from which
the farmer had neglected to haul in all of the ears. Here was a rare
feast, and about a thousand birds were already assembled, to whose
numbers constant additions were being made. This, we thought, must be
the beginning of the evening assemblage, but, strange to say, no Crows
were coming in from the west; these were all southern Crows, and,
furthermore, they showed no signs of settling for the night, but were
simply intent on the grain.
Driving further on, we inquired of a man where the Crows roosted,
and were assured that they made use of a long strip of woods lying
between us and the river. Investigation, however, showed not a Crow in
the wood, and we were inclined to believe that we had been purposely
misled. Passing through the trees, we had an unobstructed view of the
river. The sun was just setting, a round, red ball of fire in the
west, and in the yellow light we could see the lines of Delaware Crows
crossing towards us, while in the fields before us were hundreds of
Crows lazily flapping about much as the others were in the corn-field
to the east.
Here, again, we were directed back to the same wood and assured that
the birds would repair there when ready. It was just dusk as we hitched
our horse and entered the woods; there was still no sign of Crows,
but as we emerged on the farther side we found that an immense flight
was just beginning to pass overhead from the westward; evidently the
river Crows had concluded that bedtime had come. They did not, however,
alight in the trees, but passed over and dropped noiselessly into the
low fields just before us, seeming to select a black, burnt area on
the far side. To our amazement this "burnt" patch proved to be a solid
mass of Crows sitting close together, and in the gathering gloom it was
difficult to see how far it extended. Four immense flights of the birds
were now pouring into the fields, in one of which we estimated that 500
Crows passed overhead per minute, during the height of the flight.
It was now quite dark, and we began to think that the birds had no
intention of retiring to the woods, so determined to vary the monotony
of the scene and at the same time warm our chilled bodies. We,
therefore, ran rapidly toward the nearest birds and shouted together
just as they first took wing. The effect was marvellous; with a roar
of wings the whole surface of the ground seemed to rise. The birds
hovered about a minute, and then entered the woods; we soon saw that
but a small portion of the assemblage had taken wing. Those farther off
had not seen us in the darkness, and doubtless thought that this was
merely the beginning of the regular nightly retirement into the trees.
The movement, once started, became contagious, and the Crows arose
steadily section by section. The bare branches of the trees which stood
out clearly against the western sky but a minute before seemed to be
clothed in thick foliage as the multitude of birds settled down.
After all had apparently entered the roost, we shouted again and the
roar of wings was simply deafening; another shout brought the same
result in undiminished force, and even then, probably not half the
birds took wing.
They soon settled down again, and we were glad to leave them in peace.
So far as we could learn they are but little molested, and let us hope
that this may continue. Many of the large roosts farther north in
Pennsylvania and New Jersey, seem to be rapidly decreasing in size,
owing to thoughtless persecution, and eventually the poor birds may be
driven to roost in scattered detachments, as would, indeed, seem best
for their preservation; but if this comes to pass, one of the most
impressive phenomena of our bird-life will have disappeared.
Winter Bird Notes from Southern New Hampshire
BY WILLIAM EVERETT CRAM
Illustrated by the author
[Illustration]
January 1, 1898. Northern birds have, as a rule, been decidedly rare
this winter. In November, Goshawks were quite abundant, and a few
Snowy Owls were also to be seen at that time. As I was returning from
a tramp just at dusk one evening, one of the great white fellows came
sailing by only a few yards from the ground. His manner of sailing and
something in the set of his wings reminded me strongly of an Eagle
flying before the wind; there were evident the same power and swiftness
without visible effort. He came from the northeast on the wind of a
rising storm, and had evidently but just arrived, being in much more
perfect plumage than is usual in November, appearing, at the distance
of only a few yards, absolutely white, with his big yellow eyes burning
among his snowy feathers.
Snow Buntings were also common in November, and Horned Larks during
the first part of the month. I noticed a large flock of the latter one
morning feeding in the stubble and, observing that they were moving
towards me, crouched motionless until they came up and surrounded
me, gathering seeds in the earnest, industrious manner of domestic
Pigeons, and exhibiting but little more alarm at my presence. On the
27th a Shrike alighted in the top of the elm near the house, and,
after reconnoitering for a few moments, started down into the orchard,
but apparently missed whatever it struck at and, turning upward,
alighted in a smaller elm by the road, when it at once began tearing
to pieces an old bird's nest, behaving exactly as if in anger at its
disappointment.
For some time I was unable to discover what it had at first been after,
but finally caught sight of a Downy Woodpecker clinging motionless to
the underside of a small branch in an apple tree, with every feather
drawn down close to its body, just as an owl does when trying to escape
notice.
[Illustration: SNOWY OWL]
After a while it began turning its head from side to side, as if to
make sure its enemy had disappeared. When I attempted to make it fly,
it merely crept mouse-like about the branches until perfectly certain
that the Shrike had gone, when it took wing and flew to another tree,
where it presently went to work as if nothing had happened.
Throughout December the only birds to be found were Crows, Blue Jays,
Downy Woodpeckers, Black-capped Chickadees, Nuthatches, Golden-crowned
Kinglets, Brown Creepers, and Partridges, with an occasional Bald
Eagle or Rough-legged Hawk and a very few Flickers. A large flock of
Wild Geese passed over on the 7th, and I saw a few Tree Sparrows and a
Winter Wren about the last of the month. The Sparrows lingered about
until the first week in January, when a large flock of Snow Buntings
made their appearance. A few days later, however, neither Sparrows nor
Buntings were to be found anywhere.
January 6. Going through the woods I heard the small birds making quite
a fuss in the young growth, and on looking for the cause, discovered a
Saw-whet Owl in a little hemlock. When I first caught sight of him he
was sitting on one of the smaller branches ten feet from the ground,
apparently asleep, with his back to the trunk and his head tipped back.
On being closely approached, he seemed to awake suddenly with a start,
at once turning his great round eyes in my direction, and after that,
never removed them from me for an instant, though I walked around his
tree several times. He had a partly eaten white-footed mouse slung
across the branch beside him, probably the remains of his breakfast.
Most of the small birds contented themselves with chirping at him
from the surrounding trees, occasionally approaching to inspect him
more closely and then flying off again, but one Red-breasted Nuthatch
remained from the first on a twig close to the Owl's head, and kept
up a continual harsh rasping cry, as if having some especial cause of
complaint against him. A Flicker and some Blue Jays alighted in the
neighboring trees, but not seeing anything of importance, soon flew
away again.
When I shook the tree the Owl merely fluttered a few yards, and lit on
a maple sapling just out of my reach. The next time he tried to hide by
alighting on the further side of the stem of a pine several inches in
diameter, but finding this of no avail, at last took a longer flight
off through the woods, where I was unable to follow him.
[Illustration: RED-TAILED HAWK]
January 28. Heard what I at first took to be the song of a Ruby-crowned
Kinglet to-day, but it proved to be a Black-capped Chickadee, uttering
what was to me an entirely new note; like the Kinglet's, only fainter
and shorter, with just a little of the ring of the Canary's song in
it. He was sitting all alone under the dark evergreens, singing to
himself in a manner wholly out of keeping with the general disposition
and taste of the Chickadee. When I at last disturbed him, he flew to
another tree and began searching for insects, uttering the familiar
note of his species.
[Illustration: GREAT HORNED OWL]
February 3. There is a little Junco hopping about the path to-day, in
spite of the fact that the mercury has been very near zero most of the
time for the last fortnight, and that the snow is drifted eight or ten
feet deep in places. He appears to spend a considerable portion of his
time in the woodshed, poking about among the chips, etc., and I fancy
sleeps somewhere about the building.
There are also a few Flickers and at least one Meadowlark in this
vicinity, and since the last heavy snowfall they have become unusually
tame and familiar, coming close about the house for food. Goldfinches
and Tree Sparrows are still quite abundant, and there is a flock of
fifty or sixty Pine Grosbeaks, mostly in young plumage, in the woods
about a mile to the west of us, the first I have seen this winter.
February 6. About five o'clock this evening a large Goshawk in rather
dark plumage came flying across the field only a few yards above the
snow. As he neared a tall elm he rose in the air and alighted near the
top of the tree, and after sitting there for a few moments, turning his
head in all directions, he opened his wings and tumbled from his perch,
falling several yards down among the branches before regaining his
balance, when he flew rapidly off toward the west and disappeared among
the pines. Just a week ago I noticed where a Goshawk, judging from the
tracks in the snow, had killed a rabbit, so that it would seem that
they have not been entirely absent at any time this winter.
February 7. Have just seen a Goshawk, apparently in young plumage,
flying west at a height of perhaps sixty or seventy yards from the
ground.
February 13. The Great Horned Owls began hooting nearly an hour before
sunset this evening. It is remarkable how loud their cry sounds at a
distance of half a mile or even a mile. I am convinced that they can
be heard distinctly two miles away, for I have often heard them in the
day time from a direction in which the nearest woods were at least
as far as that. There are always several pairs dwelling in a certain
dark hemlock swamp about a mile and a half away, and sometimes in the
evening, or by moonlight, they come hunting across the meadows and
pastures, hooting at intervals as they come. When they get within one
hundred yards or so their cry is loud enough to arouse everyone in the
house.
February 18. Followed the track of a Hawk, apparently a Goshawk,
twenty or thirty rods through the birch woods west of the cove. From
the appearance of the tracks the bird must have walked much after the
manner of a Crow, though dragging its claws more. Occasionally it
hopped for a few feet. There was no sign of its having killed any game
near there and having eaten so much as to be unable to fly at once, as
is sometimes the case. At times it followed in the tracks of rabbits
for some distance. I have often known them to do this, and am inclined
to think that they occasionally hunt rabbits in this manner where the
under-brush is too dense to allow them to fly through it easily. I have
sometimes followed their tracks through the brush until I came upon
the remains of freshly killed rabbits which they had been eating. On
coming out into an opening, I saw a beautiful male Goshawk in full blue
plumage perched on the top of a dead maple in a swamp. When I tried to
approach, he took wing and flew off toward the north.
[Illustration]
How the Central Park Chickadees Were Tamed
BY A. A. CROLIUS[I]
[Footnote I: In Bird-Lore for April, pp. 55 and 58, there were given
accounts of experiences with the remarkably tame Chickadees that passed
the winter of 1898-9 in Central Park, New York City. The present paper
solves the mystery of their surprising confidence in man.--Ed.]
[Illustration]
IN the early part of the winter of 1898-9 Chickadees were unusually
abundant in Central Park, New York City, and a friend and myself
saw them come down and get some of the nuts we were feeding to
White-throated Sparrows. We were, of course, much interested, and
determined to see if we could tame them. They would take the nuts to a
limb, eat all they wished, and hide the rest in crevices in trees or
bushes, where, I think, they seldom found them again, for the impudent
and ever wide-awake English Sparrow watched and got the pieces almost
as soon as they were deposited. After feeding them in this way for some
time, we tried to get them to eat from our hands, and finally succeeded
by first placing our hands on the ground with a nut about a foot from
our fingers, then a little nearer, then on the ends of our fingers, and
lastly in the palms of our hands. There was a great shout when they
hopped on our hands the first time, our delight being indescribable.
Finding that kneeling or bending over on the ground was rather hard
work, we tried holding out our hands when standing, or while sitting
on the benches, and they very soon came, no matter where we were or in
what attitude. The little creatures never seemed to get tired if we
remained hours at a time, and it was indeed difficult to tear oneself
away. Just as I would make up my mind to be off one would fly over my
head calling _chick-a-dee-dee_ in such a bewitching way as to make it
impossible to leave. I would say to myself, "Just one piece more,"
then throw a lot of nuts on the ground and make a 'bee line' for home,
never looking back for fear the temptation would be too great, and I
should find myself retracing my steps. After a time they would come
to me and follow me anywhere in the park, whenever I called them,
and getting better acquainted I found the birds possessed of so many
different traits of character that I named each one accordingly. One I
called the 'Scatterer,' because he stood on my hand and deliberately
threw piece after piece of nut on the ground, looking down as they fell
with the most mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as much as to say, "see
what I've done," then take a piece and fly away. This he did dozens
of times in succession. I thought at first he would rather pick them
up from the ground, but he came directly back and waited for me to
do it. Another I called 'Little Ruffled Breast,' on account of the
feathers on the breast being rough and much darker than the rest. He
was the most affectionate, had a sweet disposition, and, like human
beings of the same character, was often imposed upon, many times being
driven off by the others when he was just about taking a nut. He was
very tame, and had perfect confidence in anyone who would feed him.
The third I named the 'Boss,' because he took the lead and carried the
day. He was a beauty, spick and span in his dress, not a feather out
of place, and plump and perfect in form. The fourth, dubbed 'Little
Greedy,' was very fascinating, and I must confess to loving him more
than the rest, having had a most novel experience with him, and one
never to be forgotten. He came to me one morning, and, lighting on my
hand, sang _chick-a-dee-dee_ two or three times, helped himself to a
nut, and, perching on my forefinger, put the nut under his foot, as I
have seen them do many a time on the trees, remaining there until he
had eaten it. I was thrilled through and through with the sensation and
the perfect trustfulness of the little creature, and was sorry when he
had finished. But why was he called Greedy? Because he usually took two
pieces instead of one, and, strange to say, knew that he must have both
the same size or one would fall out. It was very funny to see him with
a good sized piece, his bill stretched to its utmost capacity, trying
to fit in another. He turned his bill first on one side then on the
other, thinking he could wedge it in by forcing it against my hand, and
he succeeded in this wonderful feat by his perseverance and indomitable
will.
[Illustration]